Correction
by Adrian Tullberg
Summary: A little something for the holiday, and a scenario that's probably inevitable.


Correction

* * *

Bruce Wayne tried to get up and off the bed. He almost succeeded.

He managed enough strength to turn his head and look at Diana, a.k.a Wonder Woman, who was calmly brushing her hair, a picture of unruffled elegance in a white silk robe.

"So ..." Bruce tried to generate enough fluid for his mouth. "... do you do that for everyone who returns from the dead?"

"Jealous?"

"Civic concern, because I can see the suicide rate spiking right there and then."

"I'm going to assume, in your own way, that was a complement."

Bruce let his head fall back on the bed. "Please assume. Many complements are deserved."

"Thank you."

"I was going to commission an award winning poet to compose a truly epic piece in honour of your abilities in that area."

Diana left the dresser, and sat on the edge of the bed. "Now you're bordering on over-the-top."

"Now ... now that I've set in stone how you are ..."

"Go on."

"... I have to ask ... why."

"Why."

"Why did you just ..." _Knock on his door until he opened up, then set upon him like a particularly motivated succubus? Even though his intelligence had led him to believe she was a virgin, the Princess of the Amazons had done things to him with a skill and passion that made him a desiccated wreck?_

A shy little smile that wasn't there twelve minutes ago. "I suppose I caught you by surprise."

"Don't tell anyone. "

"When you were catching up on events between your death and resurrection ... have you caught up with the Black Lantern crisis?"

"Not in detail. Weren't you attacked by one of the rings?"

"During that time ..." Diana looked him square in the eye. "... I had a revelation, of sorts. That helped me fight off the ring. It also put ... our previous ... flirtation into context."

Their decision to cut a growing attraction between them before it ...

... compromised them.

"What was the context?"

"Regret. We were both ... we still fear the potential harm we could do to each other if things go wrong."

Bruce said nothing.

"There is a worse regret than what was done before, Bruce. There is regretting what you never did. Knowing you could have done something ... something extraordinary but you gave into the safety of staying where you were."

"So ..."

"If I regret what was, then so be it. I don't want to be afraid of what could be anymore."

"Then ... we should seize the day ... because we might not be here tomorrow."

"Or have our pasts rewritten."

"What?"

"I'll tell you later. But tell me. Where do you stand ... on regret?"

Bruce managed to struggle onto one elbow. "Well ... you've always presented a compelling argument ..."

"Bruce ..."

"... I'm not stalling ..."

"It sounded like it ..."

"... I was about to state that we should ... explore this ... new state of affairs with all the forthright fervour that you've so eloquently put forward."

"You just want me to catch you by surprise again."

"I don't commission award-winning poets for anyone."

Diana pushed his head back on the sheets. "So why don't you think of a few rhymes while I get you something to help recover your strength?"

"That depends on how much inspiration you give me."

Diana sashayed out of the room.

Bruce closed his eyes thinking. He should be concentrating on how this new dynamic would affect him, short term, long term. How his mercurial alliance with Selina would be tested, at least put something on right now before Alfred or Dick came in to see him naked and spread-eagled on his bed.

But at the moment, all he could think of was getting a velvet-lined box and getting down on one knee.

That woman was _dangerous_.

* * *

Diana walked down the staircase, wondering where the kitchens were.

Opening up to the most closed off bastard she'd ever known. Not exactly the most clever thing she'd done. Advocating an honest lifestyle was one thing, but exposing your soft white underbelly like that?

Although she'd done a lot of exposing up there the last few hours. She made a mental note not to get too frank and open after getting down and dirty. Too many hormones in both parties.

Someone was down there. Diana thought nobody was in the house, one of the deciding factors of screwing up her courage and having her wicked way with Mr. Wayne.

Small, a child.

Damien, that was his name. The newest Robin, with crossed arms and nasty scowl.

When any new Robin made an appearance, a lot of gossip circulated. Unfortunately for this young boy, none of it was pleasant.

The most common phrase was '_Little Bastard_' (in both the literal and the figurative).

Then there was Alfred's philosophical musing; '_He is a conclusive demonstration of how naming a child tempts the Gods of Predetermination Theory'_.

There was also a _'Paternity Test Results Missing Again?'_ thrown about.

Diana descended to the bottom of the stairs, and sat down to Damien's eye level. "Hello Damien."

The boy curled his lip.

"I'm Diana. I'm your father's ..."

_Comrade-in-arms when not bitterly fighting with him over Justice League policy, uneasy ally now currently fuck buddy with an option for further development?_

"... friend."

"I know _what_ you are."

The emphasis made her pause.

Damien reached into a pocket. "Men of power like my father require women like you as a perk of service. The only reason you're still here must be that he forgot to pay you."

Diana's eyes narrowed.

Damien produced a thick roll of banknotes, proffering it to Diana with a hint of a smirk. "Here. Go buy yourself something nice."

Diana's hand had grabbed his outstretched hand, pulling him to her before he was even aware, let alone able to react.

She had gone over the possible scenarios, strategies and courses of action with this boy but realised she'd come to the same end result every time, and decided to skip to the chase, as she tore off his pants with her other hand, exposing him below the waist.

"Hey! HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!"

Her flat hand crashed down, over and over again.

"AHH! YOU BITCH! LET ME GO WHORE! GNNARRH!"

Again, and again. Methodical and relentless. Until all insults and curses were exhausted.

"STOP! FOR THE LOVE OF ... PLEASE! PLEASE STOP!"

Cracking down, until the pleas and begging were exhausted and the irredeemable boy on her knee was reduced to a mass of sobbing exclamations.

Then she stood him up, stern and resolute expression matching red rimmed eyes.

"We do not insult and slander people like you just did. Do you understand?"

Still heaving lungs unable to articulate a response, so he just nodded.

"We remain on our best behaviour to everyone; our friends appreciate the gesture, and it unsettles our enemies. Do you understand?"

Another wordless agreement.

"If you misbehave like that again, I will repeat what I just did. Do you understand?"

The fear increased in his expression, as he franticly nodded again.

"Now go and think about what you've learned here."

Damien turned, and nearly fled.

Diana stood, turning to see a stunned Bruce looking at her. He did look rather cute when flustered like that.

"It had to be done."

Given Damien's track record he'd probably not only done something, but wholeheartedly deserved the consequences he reaped. But Damien was _his_ son, and it was up to _him_ to deal with discipline.

"Diana, if you have a problem with Damien, you tell me, not ..."

"Correct him."

"If you ..."

"Although, maybe he wasn't the one I needed to correct."

A brief sensation of unreality. "What?"

Diana walked up to his stair level, and looked him coolly in the eye. "Maybe I should be discussing, and demonstrating the types of correction needed for Damien's development with his father?"

Bruce tried to eliminate the mental images this line of discussion was conjuring up.

This woman was _dangerous_.

"I should be ..."

Diana was already heading upwards, back towards the bedroom. "We should be having a frank and open discussion about correction upstairs." She looked behind her, smiling. "Coming?"

Bruce tried not to look like he was hurrying up the stairs.

He almost succeeded.


End file.
